I was on my birth club yesterday, trying to explain why I was so twitchy about the clinic not calling. I explained my 77% attrition rate between day 3 and blast last time around, and how it should have been around 50-60%.
“I’m sure last time was just a fluke,” one of them said.
The clinic called this morning at 10 when we were in the car, off to visit friends.
I knew it wasn’t great news from the moment she started with, “Well, you had ten eggs that fertilized.” I already knew this. Then she told me that we decided to go to blast (yes, I knew that too), and that we transferred two on Friday (yep, I was there) and that we didn’t freeze anything on Friday (yep) and that we pushed four embryos to day six (uh-huh- this is not news).
Then there was a pause.
“One embryo was frozen,” she told me.
“Ok.” I said. “Thank you for the report.”
I hung up. I relayed the news to Q.
We were both quiet for a little while.
“One is better than none,” I said at last, trying to put a brave face on it.
It is. It certainly is. One is better than none. One more chance is better than the road ending right here with this cycle.
But it’s not what I was hoping for.
And it means that despite the better technology and the embryoscope, we still had a 70% attrition rate with our embryos.
There probably is something wrong with my eggs.
“Maybe we should have only transferred one,” I said to Q.
“But the fresh cycles get better results. And that was what worked for us.”
We’re holding on to that now. Nothing has worked for us- absolutely nothing- except a fresh cycle where we transferred two early stage blastocysts.
That’s exactly what we did on Friday.
It’s our best shot.
And if it fails, we’ll have six months or so to start to get our heads around the idea of E. as an only child, and then we’ll have one more chance to change that future.
But I’m not going to lie- it’s looking a whole hell of a lot closer than it did a few weeks ago.